The savages on the side where Said Mohammed had so opportunely intervened were now seen swimming to the shore. Their panic was speedily communicated to their fellows, and in a few moments at least half of the attacking force were in retreat. The defenders being thus free to devote all their attention to the enemy in the other quarter, soon made short work of them, and after twenty minutes of exhausting effort they saw the whole force making shorewards, and scurrying back under cover. John’s riflemen fired a few shots at them as they fled, but he put a stop to this, thinking that the punishment they had already received might have taught them a lesson and would break up the siege. As he turned from the wall to see what casualties the garrison had suffered, Said Mohammed came up to him with his usually solemn face spread abroad with a smile. An empty can was swinging in his hand. "I did that jolly well, sir: _Hoc solus feci_." "By and by," said John impatiently, thinking that the Bengali had some trifling act to relate at epic length. Said Mohammed’s smile vanished like an April sun behind a cloud. He looked sorrowfully after John’s retreating form, then brightened a little as he caught sight of Ferrier. "Esteemed sir," he said, advancing towards him, "this humble billy was the _Deus ex machina_." "Eh! What! You aren’t hurt, are you?" said Ferrier, hurrying by. "Only in my soul," muttered Said Mohammed, gloom descending upon him. "’Slow rises worth by poverty depressed.’" John and Ferrier spent the next half-hour in attending to the wounded. Not a man had been killed; but several were suffering from spear wounds, and still more from rifle shots. The white men were again struck by the uncomplaining patience of the injured men. "You may call it a lack of sensibility if you like," said Ferrier, "but I guess it’s a fine thing from a military point of view." "One can understand how Wellington’s army in the Peninsula, the scum of the earth, as he called them, did what they did. I wish we could do something for these poor chaps. One of them is done for, I’m afraid; I don’t feel fit to-day to dig out the bullets from the others. All we can do is to bathe ’em and bandage them up; they’ve astonishing vitality. Did you read some time ago about a fellow who got a bullet in him in the Franco-Prussian war, and didn’t have it removed till thirty years afterwards? Hallo! You’ve had a knock yourself." "So have you." "I didn’t know it," said John, looking himself up and down. "I’m sorry to say it’s behind," said Ferrier, with a smile: "just under your shoulder. You’d better take your shirt off and let me see to it." "After you. You’ve got a pretty gash in your neck. My face must have scared ’em, and they didn’t recover till I had turned, and then jabbed me in the back."